Matinee Idol
by Tala Mitena
Summary: Leon's dreams seemed a world away, dropped and lost in the darkness behind him. Until the day he took a job bartending, which led him to his loftiest goals, and his own destruction. LeonRiku.
1. Prologue: The Dear and Departed

Author's Note: So it seems my return to the realm of Kingdom Hearts fanfiction is more permanent than I expected! I'm okay with that though. Originally I had planned to finish up some old fics (finally) and then fade away again. But here I am writing a new one! What can I say, I'm in love again.

Anyway, the concept for this fic is a little interesting I think. I was listening to Rufus Wainwright's song "Matinee Idol" and remembered that it is rumored to have been written about actor River Phoenix…who just so happens to also have been Tetsuya Nomura's muse while he was designing one of our most beloved characters: Squall Leonhart.

And so, here came this fic! I hope you enjoy!

**Warning: This fic will contain (as is immediately evident) character death.**

Matinee Idol

Prologue: _The Dear and Departed_

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He sat in the aisle-side corner of the back pew, as far from the family yet close to the exit as he could manage. Self consciously, he lifted a hand to touch the fedora he was wearing, along with a black suit and dark glasses. The suit, for obvious reasons – the fedora and glasses to hide his identity.

The family watched him sit, the mother narrowing her eyes briefly before deciding to ignore him altogether.

There was a clamor of motion at the door, and he turned slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of the small group of girls, probably in their late teens, enter nervously and huddle in the corner. They didn't bother sitting, but stayed standing, their heads swiveling to take in the sight of the chapel. He reached up to fiddle with his hair, hoping it was all still tucked under his hat. A strand must have fallen loose, however. He could hear the girls behind him as they started whispering.

"Is that him? Poor thing."

"That's him!"

"Do you think I should give him my number? Maybe he needs some comforting."

The last comment was followed by a bout of giggling, poorly restrained by the hands they held to their mouths. The family turned at the sound of laughter, but their anger was not directed at the girls. They glared only at him.

He did not pay attention to the ceremony. He had never cared for religion, and it was hardly appropriate. A stilted attempt at redemption made by a desperate family. He kept his eyes and his mind on the casket.

It was expensive, he could tell. Dark, shining wood. Dark enough to perhaps be ebony, even. But it was not the ornate scrolls and carvings of the casket that kept his thoughts. It was the body inside.

He sank in his seat, leaned forward to hide himself better, held his face in his hands. He couldn't think about the body. It was nothing. It was still here, would still be here for a long while. But the person he loved was gone from that body. Every trace of that person was gone.

Still, he had loved the body too.

Coughing, he lifted a hand to finger the bandage under his sunglasses. It stretched from above his right eye down across the bridge of his nose. And it hurt like hell.

As the wound throbbed, he stood to leave. It was not the pain that was unbearable, but the reminder of what he had lost when he had gained this cut. Most likely, it would scar.

And every time he looked in the mirror he would be reminded of the man he had loved, and ruined.


	2. The Hush Sound

Author's Note: So I don't have much to say, since this is following the prologue so quickly. Except for, I hope you enjoyed the prologue (despite it being so brief) and hope you enjoy this!

Matinee Idol

Chapter One: _The Hush Sound_

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Leon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before opening the door to the bar he was to start working at that night. He wasn't particularly excited about the prospect; in general he was not a fan of bars. This bar, Destati, happened to be what the owner had proudly referred to as an "alternate lifestyle, semi-burlesque dance joint". The description made Leon cringe and regret having accepted the job all the more. However, the money he'd earned at his last gig had long since disappeared, and he had been forced to dip into his savings account. The account was well-padded, considering how much he'd actually made in the last year, but his frugal nature made the dipping hurt that much more.

Inside, Destati did not look very different from any other bar, aside from the small stage at the back. Leon immediately stalked over to the break room he'd been shown during training, clocked in, and headed to the bar. He had never bartended before, but the owner and manager promised him there would be little need for it. They'd put him through the necessary classes and training, had him come in to mix a few drinks several days earlier, before opening for the night. But the clientele didn't care too much for the cocktails, they'd told him. Usually, customers filed in just before a show started, ordered a beer or two at their tables (where a waiter would serve them), watched the dances, and left.

In short, it was exactly the type of place Leon avoided for many different reasons. As he cleaned and set up the bar – following the instructions given him during training to a tee – he reminded himself that he had a full-time job set up for the fall, and that once the summer was over he would be rid of this place. But the thought of that impending employment also made him groan, so instead he focused on the task at hand, determined to be as single-minded as possible. Focusing intently on one thing at a time helped him to tune out all else and pass time more quickly.

Despite the time, and the bustle of a busy city's summer night outside the bar, Leon was on duty alone. The manager, owner, and head bartender were all out of town for a few days, so desperation had led to this arrangement. Leon supposed he should have been flattered that his new employers trusted him enough to leave him on his own for his first shift, but he took this more as an indication of their idiocy than his competence.

The first two hours of his shift passed uneventfully. No one entered the bar except the dancers, who immediately headed backstage to prepare for their show. As they passed, Leon ventured a quick glance at them; a tall lanky redhead with thorn-shaped tattoos under his eyes, a rather feminine looking man who had dyed his hair bright pink, and a boy Leon swore could not possibly be more than barely legal. The latter gave Leon a moment of intense uneasiness, but he figured it would be impossible for such a high-profile club to employ anyone underage.

Just before opening, Leon made his way to the staff restroom. As he washed his hands before returning to the floor, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Frowning, he pushed away his chestnut bangs, and traced the line of the scar that slashed across his features.

When he'd returned to his post, the crowd that had been rushing past all night had started to trickle in, and within minutes the bar was packed. As promised however, only a handful of the customers made their way to the bar. Leon prepared himself for their advances – something Destati's owner had warned him of – but his gruff demeanor and steeled eyes seemed to deter any desire.

The dancing started, and immediately the bar area emptied as the patrons moved to the seating closer to the stage. Leon watched the first performance – the pink-haired man announced as Marluxia – with little interest, opting instead to clean the bar. Second was the redhead with the strange tattoos, whose routine involved spinning a pair of flaming spheres held at the end of chains, choreographed to a techno song whose beat resounded through Leon's mind rather unpleasantly. The brunette was surprised to note that the redhead kept all of his clothes – which included only a pair of tight black jeans and tall motorcycle boots – on throughout the performance.

After the second dance ended, a hush fell over the audience and Leon quirked his brow at this. It was evident from just this sudden silence that the next dancer, most likely the young man Leon had seen walk in with the others, was the fan favorite.

The boy sauntered on stage in the dark, but he was still more than noticeable, as his silver hair shone, catching every tiny glimmer of light in the establishment. A low hum of bass began and Leon groaned, preparing for another annoying electronica song. The dancer was clad in black leather shorts, which Leon was positive were made for women, and a ripped white tank. As he began to move, the bartender struggled to keep his attention on his menial tasks.

As slim hips swung in slow, wide arcs, through the slashes in his shirt the boy's abs could be seen shifting and flexing with the movement. Though he was obviously on the younger side, it also had to be admitted that the boy was surprisingly built for his age. Not muscular necessarily, but lean and well toned.

Shaking his head and scoffing, Leon turned away and tried to find something else to do. Even if the boy were eighteen, it still made him a good eight years younger than the brunette. Unfortunately there was little left to be done as far as cleanup went, and so Leon found himself picking at his fingernails and leaning against the bar with his back to the stage. Still, it was impossible to ignore the attention and fixation of the audience. It seemed a palpable force, weighted with a gravity that pulled all thought to the stage, willing or not.

When the number ended, Leon nearly thanked God - something he had not been known to do in at least ten years. By then it was close to closing time, and he watched the patrons pour back out into the streets, noting that very few people were leaving alone though most of them had come in that way. He cleared his throat, uncomfortable in a public room so full of sexual energy.

"Mix me a drink?" someone asked as they weaved their way through the throng of people. Once they reached the bar Leon clenched his jaw, seeing that the request had been made by the silver-haired dancer.

"Show me your ID?" he muttered gruffly.

The boy laughed, smiling guiltily. "Fair enough," he conceded. He was breathing heavily, and a thin sheen of sweat clung to his brow and arms. "You're the new guy, yeah? I'm Riku."

Leon glanced at the hand Riku offered him, then looked quickly away and went to grab a rag to wipe down the counter, which he had cleaned twice already. "Leon," he said shortly.

"What do you think so far?" Riku asked, climbing onto a barstool and leaning forward. Leon paused in his cleaning long enough to give the boy a quick survey. He was of average height, but that was just about all of him that was average. His long hair was the color of moonlight, and his overgrown bangs fell softly over his eyes. Even through the hair, though, Leon could see that Riku's eyes were a brilliant sea green in color, and never once flitted away from the brunette's face. Namely, his scar. In a rare moment of self-consciousness, Leon lowered his gaze and let his own hair curtain his face. He considered himself a confident man, but where the scar was concerned it was not difficult for him to falter.

"Well?" the dancer pressed after several long moments of silence on Leon's part.

The bartender shook his head in defeat. "It's not the kind of place I'd go to."

"Yeah, you don't seem the type," Riku replied laughingly. "Transitional period?" he guessed.

"You could say that."

The silver-haired one ran his hands through his hair and muttered. "It's amazing, the shit we'll do when we feel like we don't have any other options."

Leon stopped wiping his counter and regarded Riku carefully. The boy seemed a little sad, and Leon suddenly regretted having judged him in the same way he'd judged everyone in the bar that night. The brunette had assumed every one of the men in the joint – especially the dancers – was a typical, barhopping, sex mongering fool.

"Yeah," he said softly. "I guess I get that."

"Let me guess," Riku said brightly, tilting his head and pushing his bangs behind his ears. "Struggling author?"

Leon stiffened. They were back to the questions, and he didn't like answering questions.

"Actor, then." Something about the brunette's expression must have given away that Riku had struck the right vein, because the boy laughed, then said, "I knew it. Had to be one of the two. You've got that starving artist air about you."

"Excuse me?" the bartender asked gruffly, turning full on towards the boy and rising to his full height.

Riku only smirked, then leaned across the bar to grab a pen from the other side. "Well if I haven't offended you," he trailed off, reaching out to take hold of Leon's hand and turn it over, palm up. "Maybe you'd give me a call sometime?"

Leon stood dumbstruck as the boy wrote a phone number on his palm. He tried to will himself to pull his hand away, refuse the offer, but he found he was unable to do so. All he could concentrate on was the way Riku's hair fell around his shoulders as he hunched over Leon's hand.

"See you tomorrow night?" Riku asked once he had finished inscribing the brunette's hand. Leon could do nothing but nod curtly as Riku hopped down off the stool and returned backstage.

For the rest of the night – the remainder of his shift and the drive home – Leon found himself worrying about whether or not he would accidentally rub Riku's number off of his palm. When he noticed this, upon entering his apartment, it bothered him that he was already so interested in the silver-haired boy. Sitting on the couch, the brunette cradled his head in his hands and breathed out slowly. He reminded himself that Riku was much younger than him, and practically a stripper at that. But still, the slow sway of the boy's hips and the obvious enchantment he'd held over the crowd at Destati would not leave Leon's mind.

Finally, he stood and made his way to the bathroom where he turned on the shower and stepped into the hot water gratefully.

Frowning, he looked down at his hand, then grabbed a bar of soap and scrubbed until all trace of those seven digits was removed.


	3. Passenger Seat

Author's Note: Wow, am I just flying through these chapters! I'm usually not this quick to update, but I have a lot of free time lately and just can't stop thinking of this story. I really should be working on my older fics, but…this one won't leave me alone!

So, thanks to those of you who reviewed/favorited/+alert'ed this! I appreciate the support…especially since I've forgotten what it's like waiting for those email notifications to pop up in my inbox, haha!

Matinee Idol

Chapter Two: _Passenger Seat_

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Leon had work at Destati for the next few days before he had a day off, which he was desperately looking forward to. He was already sick of working at the bar. He didn't enjoy bartending, on the rare occasion he actually had to make a drink, and the atmosphere of the joint made him uncomfortable. And he never looked forward to seeing Riku again. He either dreaded the potential awkwardness that would develop as days passed and he still did not give the dancer the call Leon was sure he was expecting, or he worried over how much trouble he might have concentrating on anything but Riku's routine.

Thankfully, however, Riku never once commented on Leon's failure to call him. He was still friendly with the brunette, saying 'hello' every night as he walked in, 'goodbye' every night as he left, and occasionally striking up casual conversation – though usually this was rather one-sided. Still, since the head bartender, a busty young woman named Tifa, had returned Leon had found a way to make sure he was busy in the back room whenever Riku was on stage. The boy seemed nice enough, and Leon certainly found him attractive, but it was just that: Riku was a boy, barely more than that. And he was nice enough that Leon knew better than to get involved with him. The brunette was very self-aware, and he knew that he was incapable of opening up to someone enough to satisfy the demands of a relationship. So he'd long ago decided it was best to not even make an attempt.

When the end of his last shift before his day off came, Leon stepped out of the bar gratefully. It was nearly 2am, and he was anxious to get home, shower, sleep, and not have to worry about what time he got up the next morning. He would still rise fairly early, he knew, but he wouldn't have to rush to fit all his errands in before call time at the bar. Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply, gathering himself enough to safely drive home.

"Hey," Riku called softly as Leon exhaled.

The brunette opened his eyes, fixed them on the dancer and sighed, a little exasperated. "Hey," he responded brusquely.

"Can I, um, bother you for a favor?" Riku smiled sheepishly and Leon realized the boy was ashamed of having to ask for help.

He arched a brow, wondering what it was Riku could need help with, and surprised that he was asking the brunette for help after Leon had clearly rejected him.

"Oh come on," the silver haired boy said lightly, easily picking up on the source of Leon's puzzlement. "If you're not interested, you're not interested. I can take it, I'm a big boy."

Leon snorted. "What's the favor?"

That abashed half-smile found its way onto Riku's face again as he explained. "My car broke down the other day so I've been carpooling with Axel. He had to rush out today though, some sort of emergency, I guess. He seemed pretty flustered. So I promised him I could get a ride home."

"But you couldn't," Squall finished.

Riku shrugged. "I asked Marluxia but he's not very generous. I'm sure I could've gotten a ride from one of the customers, but despite certain poor life decisions," he paused, gesturing back at the bar, "I'm not stupid."

Leon reluctantly admitted – to himself – that he was a little surprised by Riku's sensibility. "I can drop you off, I guess."

The dancer smiled brightly, thanking Leon, who took a moment to actually look the boy over. Riku was dressed in street clothes, for the first time in Leon's experience, wearing a pair of classic cut jeans and a simple black button up shirt. The brunette found it much more attractive than the tight, ripped, sequined get-ups he usually donned on stage.

As they walked to Leon's car, Riku gave him vague directions to his apartment, but the older man knew the city well enough that they were adequate. Once in the car he decided to turn on the radio. Usually he kept it off, preferring silence during his drives, but now he figured that the music would be a welcome distraction from the silence he was sure Riku would expect to fill with idle conversation. When the radio clicked on, however, and dropped them in the middle of a bubbly pop song, Leon immediately regretted this decision.

Riku leaned over and turned the music off. "Sorry," he offered with a small smile. "I don't really like that kind of music."

"Don't apologize," Leon muttered thankfully.

"Not a fan yourself?"

"No."

Riku was silent for a moment, obviously waiting for the brunette to continue. When he did not, the boy asked "What do you like, then?"

Leon shrugged. "Music that's quieter. Softer."

"You're not so good with specifics, huh?"

The bartender kept his eyes on the road, curled his fingers tighter around the steering wheel, and kept quiet. For a few minutes Riku did not speak either, not until they were on his street, about to pull up in front of his apartment complex.

"So I know this will totally contradict what I said earlier, but I'm wondering if you'd mind reconsidering that phone call you never made?" he asked as Leon pulled the car into a parking spot in the small lot next to Riku's building. The dancer smiled a little as he unbuckled his seat belt.

"What?" Leon asked, bewildered both by the boy's boldness and determination.

"I guess what I mean is this: I was okay that you weren't interested in me. It happens, I get it. But you're intriguing, so I'd like it if you'd think about it a little more."

The brunette turned to look at Riku, who was looking up at Leon with an expression of pure inquiry. Leon had had experience with younger men hitting on him before, and in that experience had found that teenagers had a tendency to try and pull tricks on older men. Much like the girls from high school who had tried in vain to pique Leon's interest – not knowing nothing could do them a lick of good – these boys had made eyes, leaned in just the tiniest bit, tweaked their behavior in countless other ways which they thought heightened their attractiveness. But here Riku was, sitting in his seat as casually as possible, merely asking the question that was on his mind instead of beating around the bush and attempting to psychically convey his intentions as most seemed to think was necessary in such situations.

Leon caught himself thinking that this simplicity, this honesty and straightforwardness, was actually incredibly alluring, and tried to stifle the thought with a reminder that despite this small example of Riku's maturity, the boy was still much younger than him.

"But you're -" he started, but Riku interrupted him.

"I'm not a stripper," he said firmly, straightening in his seat. "Not once have I so much as unbuckled my belt while on that stage."

"I wasn't going to say that."

Riku's mouth formed an 'oh', and he leaned forward so that his hair hid his face. "Sorry," he murmured. "I guess…I don't know. I always expect people to judge me because of that place."

In a rare moment of acute curiosity, Leon asked, "Why do you work there, then?"

"Same reason you do, I assume. I need the money."

Leon stared at Riku for a long moment, silently wondering what someone as young as this silver haired boy could need money for so badly.

"I start school in the fall," Riku explained when it was obvious that Leon would not voice his question aloud. "I have to pay full tuition myself, and this was the only job that made that possible."

So Riku not only worked in what basically amounted to the adult entertainment industry, but was also off to university in a few months. The brunette took this as an indication that despite appearances, Riku _had_ to be at least 18. Then, he wondered why it was that Riku had to pay his own way through college.

Clearing his throat, Riku lifted his gaze again to the brunette, and said, "So, what do you say? Will you at least consider giving it some more thought?"

Despite himself, Leon cracked a small smile, and Riku pointed it out triumphantly. The brunette said nothing, though, but it appeared that the dancer had already come to expect this. Riku didn't seem to mind the lack of reply, or even to be awaiting one. Instead, he only laughed and turned to open the door. He moved to step out, but after one foot touched the ground he paused, then pulled his leg back into the car and turned towards Leon. Riku eyed the brunette for a moment, blinking slowly and tilting his head to one side.

Leon cleared his throat, looked away from the boy briefly before turning his attention back to Riku.

The silver haired one leaned forward, placed a hand gently on the brunette's cheek, and pressed his lips to Leon's. Unwittingly, the brunette responded to the kiss; their tongues swept together quickly before Riku pulled away with a satisfied smirk, and slipped out of the car, leaving Leon dazed.

Throughout the ride home, Leon cursed under his breath several times, hoping the action would rid him of the thought of that kiss. In reality, all it did was recall the memory in sharper detail, elicit further thoughts of Riku that first night in Destati, on stage, hips swaying, innocently holding such immense power over his audience. Once home, he cursed yet again, undressing quickly and climbing into bed with the hope that he was exhausted enough to fall asleep within a very short time.

But there they still were; the glimmer of moonlight in Riku's hair, the sharp inquisitiveness of his eyes, the sweep of his tongue against the caverns of Leon's mouth. The brunette's desire pooled, hot in his loins, and he rose and stalked to the bathroom, to shower. Even there, though the water was scalding away the grime of the night, it did nothing to rid him of those thoughts.

Leon tried desperately to banish them. He did simple math, recited monologues long ago committed to memory but no longer needed. Any method he could think of was put to use, however fruitlessly. He botched the equations, skipped lines, thought only of the feel of Riku's kiss - how it had felt in the car, how it might feel elongated, relocated. Leon imagined those lips on his neck, his chest, his cock.

The brunette placed one hand against the wall of the shower stall, hunched over, and moved the other southward, where he worked furiously to finally release himself from these imaginations. Once done, he cleaned up, turned off the shower, dried off, and went back to bed.

Staring up at the ceiling, he thought again of only Riku, though these thoughts were much more innocent. They were not the tantalizing fantasies of the last hour or so, but grim reminders that Leon would do nothing for the boy, could do nothing but hurt him.

And the last thing Leon wanted to do was to hurt someone again.


End file.
